


Guilt

by silentdescant



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Catholic, Catholic School, High School, M/M, Priests, Religious Themes & References, Secret Relationship, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-20
Updated: 2009-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank has an obsession with Father Way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> written for bandom_hc, sort of, but mostly for my own pleasure. Thank you to philosiraptors for the quick look through and confidence boost. :D
> 
> the bandom_hc prompt in full **(SPOILERS)** : 373: Gerard is a priest. Frank is an altar boy. Frank lusts over the new priest. Gerard has to advise a rebellious teenager Frank. Frank comes on to Gerard, but Gerard is horrified over abusing any trust and recoils away from Frank even though he finds Frank really hot. But someone sees! and they think Gerard is a pervert. It comes out and Gerard leaves the priesthood. A couple years later Frank is totally legal and comes across Gerard who is a drunk because of what happened. Frank feels really guilty and vows to make Gerard's life good again.

Frank comes in at the same time every day, right after school. 3:45pm sharp, every single day. Gerard watches as he dips his fingers and crosses himself, and as he walks down the rows of pews, up to the front, where he kneels in the third row. He bows his head for one minute exactly, and then he looks up. Gerard’s timed him. Frank knows by now where Gerard is every day at this time, and he looks straight at Gerard every day.

Every day, they have a staring contest, and it’s always Gerard that breaks it. He glances back at Frank a few seconds later and finds his head lowered again. Frank stays at the church until 4:20, when his digital watch beeps, and then leaves to catch a bus home. Gerard knows this because he followed Frank to the door and watched him from the front windows.

Frank even comes in at the same time on Saturday, and follows the same routine. Sunday is the only time it’s different, because Frank gets there at six in the morning. He goes through the same motions, and he’s timed it perfectly, because as soon as he finishes, the other altar boys straggle in for Mass, blinking sleepily.

Frank stays the entire day on Sunday, doing his duties during both the early and late Mass and then whatever else Gerard or the other priest asks him to do, and then his mother comes by to pick him up and take him home.

For five weeks and four weekends, Frank does this.

Gerard doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t understand why a kid in high school would spend so much time at church; he never even felt that way when he was younger. It was only at seminary school that he started to really appreciate spending time there.

He knows Frank isn’t doing it for God, too. He’s had to sit through Frank’s confessions, which are not part of his daily routine. It’s always a surprise when Frank slides into the booth; his confessions are irregular, and usually only on Sundays, when his mother forces him.

It’s on the tip of Gerard’s tongue to ask him why he comes in, but he always stops himself. He’s not sure why. Maybe subconsciously he thinks that it will break the spell and Frank will realize what he’s doing, that he’s wasting time at church when he could be with his friends, like every other normal kid. And Gerard has to admit, if only to himself, that he’s begun to count on Frank’s visits. He won’t let himself look forward to them, because there’s no reason he should, but he does count on them.

On Thursday, Frank doesn’t kneel in the third pew. He approaches Gerard cautiously and asks if Gerard will hear his confession. He holds himself very tense and doesn’t meet Gerard’s gaze.

“Of course,” Gerard replies warmly.

The tension doesn’t ease in the darkness of the confessional. Frank doesn’t speak. Gerard glances down at the glowing hands of his watch and watches the seconds tick by. Two minutes of silence later, he asks Frank if something’s wrong.

“I went down on a boy at school today,” Frank whispers, and Gerard thinks, _Oh_. “He’s not gay, he said. I said it didn’t matter. I sucked him off in the bathroom while we were both in a free period. It was my first time but not his,” he explains in a rush.

“I see,” Gerard says after a moment, and Frank doesn’t offer anything else. He’s still staring down at his watch, but the numbers are suddenly meaningless. He blurts out the question that’s at the forefront of his mind. “Why do you come here every day and not confess?”

“I’m scared to,” Frank replies, and he does sound scared. He sounds younger than Gerard knows he is. Gerard stops that train of thought right there, because Frank still _is_ very young. “I can’t tell you things.”

He could have guessed that Frank was keeping things from him. “Frank,” Gerard says gently, “you know I can’t tell your parents, or anyone else what you—”

“No, I can’t tell _you_ ,” Frank insists. “I wish I could.”

“You told me about… today,” Gerard points out. “I won’t judge you, Frank. That’s not why I’m here.”

“That’s not it,” Frank whispers.

“Tell me why you come here every day, Frank,” Gerard probes, trying not to sound like he’s just satisfying his own burning curiosity.

“Because of you,” Frank answers after a moment.

Gerard swallows. The air in the confessional feels stuffy, and it tastes funny in his mouth. He takes a quick breath. “What do you wish you could tell me, Frank?”

Gerard hears Frank breathing loudly through his mouth. He sounds panicked. Gerard glances over through the screen and sees Frank’s silhouette. He sees Frank’s nose, his hair, and his parted lips. He sees Frank’s chest heaving.

“Frank, please tell me,” Gerard says, staring through the screen.

Frank looks right back at him. He catches Gerard’s eyes and lifts his hand so his fingertips brush the grating. Gerard’s hand moves automatically to mirror him, and their fingers touch.

“You’re the only reason I still come here,” Frank begins in a low, desperate tone. “I think about you every day. All the time. I need to see you. I want… I want to touch you. I want to kiss you.”

Gerard gasps and presses his hand harder against the screen. Frank’s fingertips brush his palm through the gaps. “Frank—”

“Father, please, I can’t stop. I need something, I need _you_. I thought about you today when I was sucking Caleb’s dick, and I was wishing it was you. And I just felt guilty after, because it wasn’t. Father, please.”

“Frank, I can’t do this. You know I can’t do this,” Gerard whispers urgently. The boy makes him want to scream. Frank sniffs and Gerard can tell he’s crying now. He can’t restrain the part of himself that wants to brush the tears from Frank’s pale cheeks. “It can never happen, Frank.”

“Oh God, Father,” Frank gasps, and Gerard doesn’t admonish him for using the Lord’s name in vain, like he has countless times before. Not now.

“I can’t help you, Frank,” Gerard says.

Frank sniffles again and wipes his face with his sleeve. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and slips out of the confessional and then out the door before Gerard can catch him.

It’s only four o’clock; Frank’s bus doesn’t come for another twenty minutes. Gerard races to the door and yanks it open, glancing quickly down the empty street in both directions. He sees Frank a block away, running as fast as he can away from the church.

Gerard doesn’t expect Frank to come on Friday, but Frank pulls open the heavy door at 3:45, exactly the same as always. Gerard stares at him as he follows his usual routine, crossing himself and walking quietly to the third pew. Frank kneels down and bows his head for one minute, and Gerard knows he must be counting the seconds in his head, and then he looks up, immediately meeting Gerard’s gaze.

This time, though, Gerard doesn’t look away. Neither does Frank. Gerard sees Frank’s breath quicken, and sees him open his mouth to wet his lips. His hands are clasped in front of him, and he strokes his own knuckle with his index finger. Gerard doesn’t know if it’s just something to keep his hands occupied, or if Frank is doing it on purpose, but he’s transfixed.

Gerard finally does break their stare, but this time, when he looks back, Frank is still watching him closely. Gerard closes his eyes and takes a moment to calm himself down. When he looks up, Frank’s tongue slides slowly across his lower lip, then he sucks his lip into his mouth and bites down. After a few seconds, he lets up, and his lip is pink and swollen. There’s a slight flush on Frank’s cheeks.

Gerard walks down the aisle and stops when he reaches Frank’s pew. They’re the only ones in the church, at the moment, and Gerard is very glad of that. He takes a deep breath.

“Why are you here?”

Frank doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t stop staring up at Gerard. He sits back on his heels, making himself shorter.

“Why are you doing this, Frank?” Gerard asks desperately.

Frank still doesn’t answer. He licks his lips again and unlaces his fingers. Gerard watches every moment closely. Frank drops his right hand to his thigh and slowly, very slowly drags it up until his palm is over his crotch. He still doesn’t stop staring.

Gerard’s breath catches and he looks away quickly. The church bells ring four o’clock. Gerard waits until they fall silent and then whispers, “Please don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, Father,” Frank replies, and leaves.

Saturday, the same thing happens. Gerard’s more surprised than ever to see Frank come in, and this time they’re not alone. Frank still kneels in the third pew and stares at Gerard, but Gerard doesn’t approach him again. That backfired massively last time. At four, when the bells start chiming, Frank drops his hands and Gerard’s imagination fills in the blanks of what he’s doing behind that pew.

Frank’s eyelids flutter for a few seconds and he tilts his head back, breathing out through his open mouth. Gerard digs his fingernails into his palm and does not move.

Sunday, when Frank comes in early, Gerard doesn’t stay to watch him. He goes to his office and reads over the notes for his sermon, and doesn’t come out until the other altar boys arrive and start getting ready.

Frank looks angry when Gerard finally looks at him. He’s dressed in his white robe and holding the processional cross, fingers wrapped tight around it. Gerard brushes by him and whispers, “I can’t help you, Frank.”

Frank ignores him until the service, and every time he bows his head, he’s still staring up through his eyelashes at Gerard.

By Monday afternoon, Gerard expects the torture. The week passes, with Frank getting bolder each day, and Gerard thinks he might be developing a Pavlovian response to the church bells. Frank times his taunting perfectly at 4:00 every single day.

After two weeks, Frank asks Gerard to hear his confession again. Gerard has to bite the inside of his cheek until it bleeds to stop himself from throwing Frank out. The boy is driving him crazy.

“What did you want to tell me, Frank?” Gerard asks, in as level a tone as he can manage.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Frank replies, breathy and husky and low all at once. “I asked Caleb to let me blow him again today. I imagined it was you again. I didn’t really suck him off, though, he was just fucking my mouth, and fuck, Father, it made me so hard. I had to wait until I could see you, though. I needed to see you.”

Gerard looks down at his watch. It’s almost four; Frank’s right on schedule.

Gerard hears the distinctive sound of Frank unzipping his fly. Gerard covers his mouth with his hand so he doesn’t make any noise. Frank won’t really—He can’t—

“Oh,” Frank sighs. “Father. Father, all I could think of was your cock in my mouth. I couldn’t get it out of my head. How you must feel, how you must taste. Oh God, please, Father, say something.”

The fingernails of Gerard’s left hand are digging little crescents into his cheek, and his right hand is scraping hard against his thigh as he clenches it into a fist. He will not move that hand. He won’t do it. He hears Frank, hears the familiar sound of skin sliding on skin, and Gerard closes his eyes tightly.

Frank’s not speaking anymore; he’s reduced to quiet, muffled gasps, and Gerard wonders if Frank is covering his own mouth too. Then his breathing gets louder, more labored, and Gerard’s eyes fly open. He stares straight ahead, at the smooth, blank wall of the confessional, and listens to Frank whine as he comes. The bells are chiming again.

Frank takes a moment to get himself under control again; he pulls up his jeans and zips them back up, and Gerard sees him press his hand to the screen between them in his periphery.

Then he leaves, and Gerard can’t follow him out. He can’t move. Gerard knows Frank’s left the church completely a few minutes later, and only then can he shift his right hand to palm himself through his robes. It’s useless denying that he’s hard, and the temptation is too great to just finish himself off right here.

Even though he’s alone in the building, he can’t help but try and muffle the soft, desperate noises he makes with his hand still clapped over his mouth. He rolls his palm against his cock, fists himself through the fabric, and comes in his pants only a few moments later, trying to erase the mental images of Frank on his knees for some random boy, lips flushed red and glistening with slick come.

The next day is Saturday, and he’s waiting at Frank’s pew at 3:45. A smile flickers across Frank’s face as he crosses himself and walks down the aisle. His fingers skim Gerard’s waist as he brushes by, and he sits down instead of kneeling.

“You have to stop coming here,” Gerard says sternly.

All traces of Frank’s good mood disappear. He widens his eyes deliberately and stares up at Gerard. “You wouldn’t turn a boy away from the church,” he says confidently.

“No,” Gerard agrees, “but you’re not here for God. You’re here for me. It has to stop, Frank.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’ve told me!”

“This is my church, Father Way,” Frank murmurs. “You can’t make me leave.”

Gerard finally gives in and sits down in the pew in front of Frank, twisting around to see him. “This is wrong, Frank, everything about it. You don’t understand how dangerous it is.”

“I understand fine,” Frank replies quickly. “I still want it. I still want you.”

Gerard faces front and whispers again, “This has to stop.”

He hears Frank slide off the pew to his knees and steadfastly does not turn around to look. Frank’s more daring than ever before; he undoes his fly and lets his jeans drop to around his knees. Gerard places each sound automatically, and his imagination fills in with vivid, full-color pictures.

“Father Way,” Frank whispers. “Father, I need this.”

Gerard drops his head to his hands and presses the heels of his palms to his eyes. He can’t do anything but listen while Frank jerks off, right behind him, probably staring at the back of Gerard’s neck. It doesn’t take Frank long to come, and he times it with the chiming of the church bells again. Or maybe, like Gerard, that’s what triggers him.

Gerard turns around while Frank’s panting harshly and sees only the top of Frank’s head. He stands up and looks over the back of the pew before he can stop himself.

Frank’s knees are spread wide, and his jeans, as Gerard expected, are pooled around them. He has his hand inside his briefs, and there’s a wet stain darkening the front. At least he’s not completely exposed, and they’re the only people in the church, and Gerard thanks God for small miracles. Frank seems to sense him looking and he lifts his head.

His cheeks are flushed bright red and his lips are swollen and wet. He straightens his shoulders and stares up at Gerard. He doesn’t even take his hand out of his underwear.

Gerard shakes his head and says, as calmly as he can manage, “This has crossed a line, Frank. You have to stop.”

“It crossed a line because you want me, too,” Frank replies hopefully.

“It crossed a line because you’re getting off in public, in _church_ , and you’re involving me, and I can’t deal with that.”

“Father Way—”

“Frank, stop it. This is dangerous. Do you understand that?”

Frank takes a breath and lowers his head. “Yes.”

“Pull your pants up and get out of here.”

Frank does so without a word and hurries out the front door without glancing back. When Gerard hears the front doors slam closed, he lets himself release the shaky, panicked breath he’d been holding. He’s hard underneath his robes. He wishes he had the audacity to jerk off in the pews, like Frank. But he can’t. He palms himself quickly, then takes his hand away and counts off Hail Marys and Our Fathers on his rosary until he can breathe normally again.

Frank comes to his office bright and early Sunday morning, and Gerard thinks he must have skipped his normal routine when he saw that Gerard wasn’t there. He knocks on Gerard’s open door and lets himself in. Gerard looks up.

Frank’s smiling lazily, and there’s a faint love-bite on the side of his neck. He sighs when he sits down in the chair opposite Gerard.

“Frank,” Gerard prompts.

“I wanted to say this in confession today, but I can’t wait that long.”

Gerard takes a breath and holds it. “What is it?”

“I went out last night, after I left here,” Frank begins. “To a club. I have a fake ID.”

Gerard doesn’t like where this story is heading.

“I danced with a few guys, and some of them bought me drinks, and, uh. One of them asked if he could take me back to his place.”

Gerard closes his eyes and sucks in another breath, waiting.

“He has an apartment in town. I said yes. He took me there, and we had a few more drinks, and he told me he wanted to fuck me. I said yes. I didn’t tell him it was my first time. I sucked him off, and then he did me, and we messed around until he was ready to fuck me. He spread me out on my back on his bed and he put my legs over his shoulders, so I was all folded up, and—”

“Stop,” Gerard whispers. He wants to cry. He can’t bring himself to open his eyes and look at Frank’s face, see whether he’s trying to tease Gerard or if he’s completely serious, just laying out the information. He doesn’t want to know.

Frank waits, silently, in his chair. Gerard can hear him breathing. He focuses on that, on how even Frank’s breaths are compared to Gerard’s own. Finally, he opens his eyes. He moves around his desk and sits in the chair next to Frank.

“You went home with a man you didn’t know? You let him—” Gerard stumbles over the word ‘fuck’, not because of the word itself, but because… because he doesn’t understand how Frank could do this to him. Gerard scrubs his hands over his face and tries not to let Frank see how hurt he is, because he’s not allowed to be hurt by this. “You’re _seventeen_ , Frank. How could you let an older man take your virginity? Was it just to get back at me? Just to torture me?”

The smile’s gone from Frank’s face. He tilts his head to the side and murmurs, “I imagined it was you. I said yes because he looked like you. He had dark hair like yours, and pale… perfect skin like yours, and his eyes were hazel like yours. I wanted to pretend it was you, for my first time. I wanted it to be you.”

Gerard hunches over and holds his head in his hands. The hot flare of jealousy, possessiveness, is still burning strong, and he can’t tamp it down. He feels so close to crying. “Why are you doing this to me?” he asks. He directs the question to God, not Frank, but it’s Frank who answers.

“Because I love you.”

Gerard stands up abruptly and Frank mirrors him, hands hanging loose at his sides. Neither of them have changed into their robes for Mass, yet; Frank’s in his usual torn jeans and layered shirts, and Gerard’s wearing black slacks and shirt with his white collar. He tries not to wonder if Frank’s ever seen him out of his robes.

Frank takes a hesitant step forward and reaches for Gerard, and Gerard watches him and doesn’t stop him. Frank flattens his palm on the middle of Gerard’s chest and lets it slide slowly down to his stomach, and then lower, where Gerard’s cock is starting to pay attention. Frank presses his hand to Gerard’s dick and gasps, his entire body swaying forward. He cups his hand around Gerard and looks up at Gerard’s face, eyes wide.

Gerard grabs Frank’s wrist tightly and holds him still. He starts to shake his head, but Frank flexes his fingers and Gerard can only gasp and rock his hips forward into Frank’s hand. He can’t let go of Frank’s thin, bony wrist, even though he knows he should, and he can feel Frank’s pulse jumping beneath his fingertips.

“Father,” Frank breathes, tilting his whole body toward Gerard. He’s so close; Gerard can smell his sweat, his shampoo, the unfamiliar scent of that nameless other man’s pungent cologne. Gerard groans.

“Father Way?” There’s a knock on the door and Jason, one of the other altar boys, takes a few steps into the office. He gasps when he sees Frank and Gerard, and his gaze drops immediately to Gerard holding Frank’s wrist, pressing Frank’s hand to the obvious bulge in his pants. “Oh, Jesus…”

Gerard drops Frank’s as if his skin burned him. “Jason—”

“Jason, wait—” Frank says at the same time.

“I’m sorry, Father,” Jason whispers, and then runs from the room.

Frank moves to chase after him but Gerard grabs him by the shoulders. “Frank, no.”

“He’s going to tell someone!”

Gerard turns Frank around and shakes him. “I told you this was fucking dangerous, Frank, but you didn’t fucking listen. You shouldn’t even be here.”

“I just wanted—”

“I know what you wanted, but you can’t have it, don’t you get that? You can’t do this. _I_ can’t do this,” Gerard cuts him off angrily.

“I’m sorry,” Frank says, choking on the words. He wrenches out of Gerard’s grasp and runs out, and Gerard doesn’t try to follow him.

Frank and Jason are both absent from Mass, but Gerard gets through it without them, and without anyone calling him out. He doesn’t want to finish his sermon; he doesn’t want it to be over. He’s afraid that by the end of the day, he’ll no longer be a priest.

He’s right.

***

Frank’s dancing, grinding against some guy he’s seen before but doesn’t know, when he thinks he recognizes the mop of dark hair at the bar. He disentangles himself from the clingy, sweaty guy and pushes his way through the crowd.

He’s almost unrecognizable without his robes and white collar; his hair is hanging past his shoulders, and it looks like a greasy mess. There are purple shadows under his eyes, but he’s just as pale as ever, maybe even more so. He’s dressed completely in black, though, and from a closer view, it’s obviously him. Frank’s heart pounds frantically against his ribs as he nudges his way up to the bar.

“Father Way?” he asks loudly, to be heard over the music. The Father’s not a priest anymore, Frank knows—he never went back to the church after that day, but there was no way for him to avoid hearing about what happened—but Frank’s never thought of him by any other name.

Father Way turns around and it takes him a minute to focus on Frank. He’s completely drunk, Frank realizes with a stab of horror. For a moment, Frank doesn’t think the Father will recognize him.

But then Father Way sneers and points at Frank with the hand holding his shot glass. “Frank fucking Iero.”

Someone crashes into Frank from behind and Frank stumbles forward. Father Way doesn’t bother to catch him, or maybe he can’t, and Frank bangs his hip painfully into a stool. “Father,” he says, but Father Way cuts him off.

“I’m not your fucking father,” he mutters. He reaches out and takes a fistful of Frank’s t-shirt. “The least you could do is call me by my fucking name, after all that shit you put me through.”

“Gerard,” Frank gasps. “Gerard Way.” Frank doesn’t know if using the Father’s—Gerard’s—given name makes him feel better or worse, but he can’t deny the thrill he gets from saying it aloud.

Gerard shakes him a little, enough that the bartender, Bob, comes over and gives Frank a nod. “This dude bothering you, Frankie?” he asks pointedly, and Frank shakes his head.

“No, no. Not bothering me. Thanks.”

Gerard lets go of him and swivels around, hunching over his drink again. Bob leans over the bar and says, “He came in here already drunk. I’m keeping an eye on him.”

“Got it,” Frank replies. “Can you get me a beer?”

Bob nods and moves away. Gerard laughs. “Buying drinks for yourself now, huh? The way I remember it, you let guys get you drunk and take you home.”

Frank nods, completely thrown for a loop by Gerard fucking Way being totally drunk. “I still do that, sometimes,” Frank replies.

“Of course you fucking do,” Gerard says bitterly. Frank bristles at that, but fucking hell, Gerard has no right being fucking _jealous_. He’s the one who pushed Frank away. He’s the one who said no.

“I don’t go to church anymore,” Frank says suddenly.

“I figured. You said you just came for me. How fucked up is that, Frank? That seems pretty fucked up to me. You called me Father fucking Way. That’s pretty fucked up.”

Bob appears with Frank’s beer, and he gives Gerard a sidelong look. Frank shakes his head.

“You ruined my fucking life,” Gerard mutters.

Frank presses his lips together and looks down at his hands.

“I fucking hate you.” Gerard whispers it, and Frank only hears the edges of the words, but he knows Gerard, and now he knows Gerard drunk, and he can fill in the blanks.

He gasps and finally realizes his hands are shaking, and the guilt is so poisonous in the pit of his stomach that he feels like he wants to vomit. “Father—”

Gerard grabs the front of his shirt and slams him into the bar, pushing down so Frank’s bent backwards over it. “Don’t you fucking call me that,” he hisses. He doesn’t hold Frank there; he lets go a second later, reaches into his pocket to toss a wad of money onto the bar, and disappears.

Frank tilts his head back against the bar. He wants to cry.

“Frank, what the hell just happened?” Bob asks tightly. It’s the tone Bob uses when his patrons are causing trouble. Frank’s never had that tone used on him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, Father. I’m sorry.”

Bob hurries around the bar and picks Frank up off of it, setting him on his feet again. “What the hell just happened?” he repeats in a lower voice, holding onto Frank’s shoulder.

Frank sighs and gives in, because if Bob really wants to know, there’s a newspaper article that comes up on the first page of results if he Googles Frank’s name and a couple of specific keywords, like “Father Way”, and Frank would rather Bob hear it from him.

“I’ll explain,” he says quietly. Bob motions for Cortez to hold down the bar for a while and drags Frank into the back room.

“He was my priest,” Frank says, as soon as the door’s closed behind them.

“Okay, I wasn’t expecting that,” Bob admits.

“I got him fired,” Frank continues. He feels the sobs rising in his throat and soon he won’t be able to keep himself under control. “And now he hates me. Oh God, Bob, he hates me.”

Bob gathers him up in a tight hug and Frank melts against him, crying his eyes out.

“What happened?” Bob asks carefully. It’s a tone Frank’s never heard from him before, and it’s so gentle that it just makes Frank cry harder.

“One of the other altar boys, Jason, walked in on us,” Frank explains. “He didn’t know. No one was supposed to know. He told _everyone_. It’s all my fault.”

“Oh my God, Frank,” Bob whispers. “When was this?” His grip on Frank’s shoulders loosens and Bob rubs his shoulder blades for a moment, soothing him.

“Five years ago. Father Way didn’t even—I wasn’t being careful. It’s my fault. And now he hates me. I just wanted him to love me back. He _hates_ me,” Frank moans.

“Frankie, shh, calm down,” Bob murmurs. “He was drunk, okay? You don’t need to freak out about this. He was drunk and he shouldn’t have said that to you.”

“It’s my fault he’s fucking drunk, Bob.”

“None of it’s your fault,” Bob says gently. “You were only, what, seventeen? It’s not your fault he ended up like this.”

“You don’t understand,” Frank protests. He pushes himself away and stumbles, shaken. “He told me to stop and I didn’t listen. Then Jason… It was my fault, but Jason didn’t know that.”

“Frank, I think you should go home. I’ll call you a taxi—”

“I’m not that drunk,” Frank says belligerently. “I’ll get myself home.”

“You don’t have a car, and I don’t want you taking the bus like this. Let me call you a taxi.”

Frank goes to the pay phone and picks up the phone book. “I’ll call it myself.”

“Fine,” Bob says. “Call me when you get home safe, okay?”

He goes back out to the bar, and Frank leans against the wall, still clutching the heavy book. First, he finds a taxi service, one he’s used several times before. He programs the number into his phone, which he really should have done by now anyway. Then he flips to the back of the book, in the residence section, under W. There are only three Ways listed; Donald, Michael, and someone with the first initial “G”.

Frank stares at the entry. It must be him. It has to be him. He grabs a pen off Bob’s desk and writes the address and the phone number on his palm.

Frank waves at Bob as he pushes through the dance floor to the front door, and Bob holds up his hand like a phone and mouths “call me”. Frank nods and goes outside to meet his taxi.

He gives the driver Gerard’s address.

The apartment building is pretty shitty, and Frank’s not exactly sure why Gerard would live there. He knows there was no police report filed, so he didn’t think anything would affect Gerard’s living situation. Unless Gerard just has a shitty job now, and this is all he can afford.

Frank gnaws on the inside of his lip nervously and tells the driver to wait until he’s inside before leaving. On the front door, there’s an intercom button for Gerard Way. Frank presses it firmly.

“Yeah?” comes the static-ridden answer.

“It’s… It’s Frank. Can I come up?”

“I doubt you can make anything worse,” Gerard replies. “Third floor.” The door buzzes and Frank goes in, waving the taxi driver off over his shoulder.

He takes the stairs up, stalling for time.

Gerard’s waiting for him in the hallway, smoking a cigarette. He’s still wearing the beat-up leather jacket he had on at the bar. He holds open his door and motions for Frank to go inside.

“So, what, did you follow me here?” Gerard asks, once the door is closed again. He blows smoke in Frank’s face. Frank’s fingers itch for a cigarette.

“I looked you up,” Frank replies. “I wanted to apologize. In person.”

Gerard takes a quick drag on the cigarette and then pulls a pack out of his pocket. He offers it to Frank. “You look nervous,” he explains, smirking as Frank slides one out. Frank uses his own lighter and Gerard’s smirk widens when he sees Frank’s hands shaking. Frank looks away from him and snaps the cap shut on the flame.

“I know it was all my fault. Everything. It’s all on me, I know that,” Frank says quickly. “But I didn’t mean for that to happen. That’s not what I wanted.”

“You wouldn’t listen,” Gerard hisses.

“I know,” Frank replies desperately. “I know that, and I’m _sorry_. I just… I got obsessed. I couldn’t get you out of my head, and I just needed that… I needed _something_. I needed it so much that I ignored the consequences, and I’m really, truly sorry.”

Gerard stubs out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray and takes a few steps closer to Frank, crowding him against the front door. He stares at Frank’s face for a moment, and Frank stares back out of habit, and then Gerard’s gaze skips down to Frank’s bare arms. His tattoos. He reaches for Frank’s wrist and pulls it up.

“Thought you didn’t believe in God,” Gerard says, taunting him, as he traces the outline of the Virgin Mary’s face with his fingernail. “Our Lady of Sorrows?”

“I needed something to remember it,” Frank explains breathlessly.

“Remember it,” Gerard scoffs.

“I meant what I said,” Frank replies fiercely. “I fell in love with you.”

“You were _seventeen_ ,” Gerard says. “You were a stupid kid.”

Frank shakes his head. “I still love you.”

Gerard takes another step closer and Frank backs up, pressed to the door. Gerard gets close enough for Frank to smell him, to smell the liquor and cigarettes on his breath. Gerard’s eyes are still a glassy, bloodshot, and this close up, Frank can see how unhealthy his skin looks, so pale it’s almost translucent.

“You don’t even know me,” he whispers. His breath taste foul on Frank’s lips.

“I want to,” Frank says gently. “I want to get to know you. I want to make it up to you.”

“You can’t.”

“I want to try. I want to help.”

Gerard lifts his hands to Frank’s shoulders and shoves him hard against the door. “Everything can’t be about what you fucking want.”

Frank forces himself to relax in Gerard’s grip. He doesn’t believe Gerard will hurt him, not even when he’s this drunk and angry. He nods and says, “What do _you_ want, then?”

Gerard doesn’t answer. Frank starts counting the seconds in his head, like he used to do in church, when they stared at each other. It takes Gerard two minutes and eight seconds to respond.

Gerard leans in and presses his lips gently to Frank’s. Frank opens to the kiss immediately, even as he flinches at the stale, sharp taste of old beer and Jack Daniels. He focuses on the feel of Gerard’s lips instead, at how pliant they are, and how insistent his tongue is against Frank’s teeth. Gerard moves in closer until they’re touching everywhere, Frank sandwiched between him and the door, and he moans into Gerard’s mouth.

“You never finished your story, Frankie,” Gerard says, jerking back. “I can’t believe you let some random old man fuck you. Tell me what he did to you.”

“He wasn’t that old,” Frank protests, but Gerard has a point. Frank was only seventeen. “Take me to bed and I’ll tell you,” he replies.

Gerard nods quickly and drags Frank away from the door. The apartment isn’t that big, and it’s a complete mess with clothes and empty pizza boxes strewn across the floor, and the bedroom’s even worse. There are piles of clothes and blankets and towels, and haphazard stacks of books lining the walls; pencils and pens litter the space between all the piles, and there’s a mountain of crumpled, balled-up paper next to the bed.

“He spread you out on the bed, on your back,” Gerard says. Frank’s shocked he still remembers. “He put your legs over his shoulders and folded you up. Take off your pants.”

Frank hurries to comply, stripping off his jeans in record time and then yanking his shirt over his head, too. Gerard shrugs off his jacket and tosses it to the floor, and then follows it with his black t-shirt. It’s weird, seeing his skin. Frank always imagined him covered in black from head to toe. He stares at Gerard’s pale, smooth chest and restrains himself from reaching out to touch.

“He put your legs over his shoulders and folded you up,” Gerard repeats. “Like this.”

He pushes Frank backwards onto the bed and climbs over him. Frank moves with him, rolling into position with his knees up against his chest.

“What happened next?” Gerard asks. His breath is hot on Frank’s face.

Frank remembers everything about that night. He remembers drinking, and he remembers puking in the guy’s toilet in the morning before he went to church, but he also remembers every single detail of losing his virginity.

“He used his fingers. He kissed me while he stretched me open,” he says.

Gerard stretches to the side and gets a bottle of lube out of his nightstand. There’s a burgundy Bible there, too, with gold-edged pages. Frank looks up and sees a cross hanging on the wall over the headboard. He stares at it until he feels Gerard’s fingers at his ass, smearing the lube around and then, finally, pressing in.

Gerard focuses on opening Frank up for a moment, and Frank grinds down on every thrust of Gerard’s fingers. He wraps his arms around Gerard’s neck.

“He kissed me while he did it,” he reminds him, and Gerard takes the hint and kisses him soundly. It’s easier to ignore the alcohol now, because the guy five years ago was drunk too, and it just feels like he’s recreating that night. Frank arches his back and moans into Gerard’s mouth.

“He only used two,” Frank says, “and then he started fucking me. He fucked me so hard.”

“You winced when you sat down in my office,” Gerard replies. He removes his fingers and fumbles with the button and zip on his jeans until Frank finally reaches down and helps him. He takes a moment to kick them off the bed, and then he pushes Frank back into position and rubs his cock against Frank’s ass.

Frank moans again and rocks back towards him. “Oh, please,” he whispers, and he just barely remembers not to call Gerard “Father” again.

Gerard fists his cock, stroking himself roughly a few times, and then pushes into Frank’s ass without further warning. Frank cries out loudly and grabs at Gerard’s back, scratching him, pulling him closer.

“Oh, fuck!” he shout. “Oh, God, please!”

Gerard doesn’t waste time in starting up a rhythm. He reaches between them, searching blindly for Frank’s cock, but Frank bats his hand away.

“He didn’t touch me… until after,” he explains breathlessly.

Gerard grinds into him with a moan that matches Frank’s. “It should’ve been me,” he mutters. “You were mine.”

“I wished it was you,” Frank gasps. “I wanted it to be you.”

“What did he do then, Frankie? What did he do?”

“He fucked me until he came. I didn’t know what it would be like. I imagined it was you. Then he jerked me off and kissed me. He kept kissing me. Kiss me.”

Gerard doesn’t need to be told twice. He leans down, folding Frank’s legs up at an even harsher angle, and captures his lips again in a biting kiss. His thrusts speed up, too, and the angle lets him go deeper, harder. Frank cries out and clings onto Gerard’s back as Gerard pounds into him.

It hurts, a little, but that’s okay, he didn’t expect anything less. He just wants Gerard to want him again; he craves that feeling more than sex. Frank arches up as much as he can and pushes back to meet Gerard’s thrusts.

They’re both panting with exertion, and Gerard’s moaning with almost each breath. Frank thinks he might even come without either of them touching his dick. He doesn’t want to, though. He wants to recreate that night, make it better. Gerard’s so much better.

Gerard finally spills inside him with a sharp cry and his head thrown back and his hands clenched into fists. Frank wants to see his face, so he claws at Gerard’s back until Gerard leans down again to kiss him. It’s almost how Frank imagined it would be, with Gerard’s mouth open and his eyes squeezed shut, and his messy black hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, but at the same time, it’s more than Frank ever thought it could be. Even with Gerard’s eyes closed, he can feel the emotion there, the tension.

Gerard doesn’t pull out of him before reaching between them and fisting Frank’s cock. He strokes Frank the same way he stroked himself: fast and preoccupied, more than a little rough, and Frank has nothing to do but thrust up into Gerard’s hand, whining with need.

It only takes seconds for Frank to come, splattering both their stomachs. Gerard swipes his hand through the mess and uses it as lube to keep stroking Frank, even after Frank starts to wince and flinch away, oversensitive.

Frank bites his tongue on “Oh God, Father,” and says “Gee” instead, whispers it, repeats it until Gerard opens his eyes and looks at him.

“It should’ve been me,” Gerard says again. He looks dazed, like he can’t believe this is really happening, and Frank totally understands that. He wraps his legs around Gerard’s waist and hooks his ankles together.

“It was always you,” Frank replies. “Even when it wasn’t.”

Gerard nods and kisses him. It’s short and sweet, and Gerard disentangles himself from Frank to lie beside him.

“You were so much better,” Frank whispers, turning on his side to curl around Gerard.

They’re quiet for a few minutes; Frank can tell almost how long without even counting the seconds, he’s had so much practice. Gerard’s eyes are closed. Frank looks past him, to the Bible on the nightstand, and the rosary coiled next to it, and sighs.

“Why are you even here?” Gerard mumbles.

“Because I still love you,” Frank says. “And I hope you’ll love me too.”

“This doesn’t make things better.”

“But isn’t it a start?” Frank asks hopefully.

Gerard turns to face him, and they each put a hand on the other’s bare waist. “I guess it’s a start,” Gerard agrees. His lifts his other hand to Frank’s face and gently trails his fingers along Frank’s jaw. Frank turns his head into the touch and kisses Gerard’s palm. He needs to call Bob soon, so Bob doesn’t call the police or anything, but that can wait just a little longer. He needs to stay with Gerard for right now.

Frank drags his lips over the heel of Gerard’s palm and kisses his wrist, the delicate, small veins that he can feel through Gerard’s skin. He counts Gerard’s heartbeats with just the touch of his lips. He whispers “I love you” into Gerard’s arm and glances up.

Gerard’s smiling slightly, the corners of his mouth tipped upwards, and his eyelids are closed again. He moves his hand out of the way, wrapping it around Frank’s back to stroke the knobs of his spine. “I think I love you too,” Gerard whispers back. “I think that was the problem.”

Frank can’t keep the grin off his face. He leans forward and catches Gerard’s lips in a soft, gentle kiss. “That’s not such a problem.”

  
 _fin_.


End file.
